Highly independent follow-up for most of my other stories on the Noldor, but goes well with Begetting Day Gift. I own nothing. Enjoy!
Names used are the Quenyan forms:
Curufinwë Fëanáro - Fëanor
Curufinwë Atarinkë - Curufin
Macalaurë - Maglor
Ambarussa - Amrod & Amras
Carnistir - Caranthir
Maitimo - Maedhros
Tyelkormo - Celegorm
Nolofinwë - Fingolfin
Arafinwë - Finarfin
Manwë's Invitation
Frowning Curufinwë Fëanáro scrunched up the piece of paper. His father grasped his son's arm before it would throw the letter into the fireplace. Reluctantly the son handed the letter to Finwë who took it and read it with a thoughtful expression on his face.
"'... Curufinwë Fëanáro Finwion is asked to join a feast of celebration upon the slopes of Taniquetil...'," Finwë read out loud. "I take from your behaviour that you do not intend to go even if Manwë himself invites you."
His son nodded. "They should leave me in peace," he muttered. "Why would I celebrate with those who expelled me? First they drive me off, then they beg for my return."
"If the Valar themselves ask for you to attend, will you truly rebel against them?"
"They see themselves capable of leading this world anyway they wish and telling us to do whatever they please." Fëanáro muttered clutching his fists.
"Everybody is invited," Finwë kept on reading ignoring his son's wry anger. "Although I don't think many Teleri will come," he sighed and laid down the letter on the desk.
"They have isolated themselves," Fëanáro muttered, then halted. He looked out through the window, far away into the distance and said sadly: "Maybe they are right in doing so."
His father said nothing but came up to his son. He, too, looked outside over the yard. The light was dim in Formenos. A wind rustled the leaves in the trees. After a while Fëanáro broke the silence:
"If Manwë asks me to go then go I must." He turned to face his father. "But you will come with me," he stated questioning. His eyes glimmered hopefully. "Won't you?"
But his father shook his head. "No.I wasn't asked to and furthermore, as long as my son is in exile -"
"- in exile from Tirion you will not hold yourself as king.," his son summed up and the hope in his eyes died away.
His father nodded silently:"Indeed. I will not meet my people." Hesitating he continued: "But would you not go there also on our behalf?"
"I will go. Alone if I must. Alone and unadorned, obeying rules rather than to have fun."
Fëanáro looked quietly over the yard again. He looked at his sons who were outside unloading their horses having just returned from a journey. Curufinwë Atarinkë and Macalaurë carrying packs inside, the Ambarussa grooming the horses, Carnistir and Maitimo disputing about something in a friendly manner and Tyelkormo petting his dogs back. He thought back to their life before in Tirion. Himself, his wife, their sons... his half-brothers and their families...
As if guessing his son's thoughts Finwë interrupted his reminisces:
"If you see them - greet your brothers from me," he murmured.
Fëanáro blinked. There was a sting in his heart when he remembered how he had threatened Nolofinwë's life. He would meet him too if he went to the feast. Both Nolo and Arafinwë. He should hold no grievance. Not against them. They had had their quarrels, but they were gone.
"From us," he whispered and looked down. "From us all."
His father smiled and nodded.